The Sukshma Series is a first-hand account of an educated woman of post-colonial India reflecting on how the social and political set-up of the country defined the status of an Indian woman.
Memory is the sense of loss and loss pulls us after it.Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping The air tonight invites the dense warren of smoke from your…
This is a perpetual mourning poem. If you were told to livefast, you’ll be aghast at life’s stretch,a thing too long for haiku, sinceelegies have…
All this contradictory newsobviously spewsdigitized perplexities of truth: clattering electrons andcross-eyed geesesparkly and smartly sneezing liberal this, conservative that; flying smack-dabbit into windowstranslucent glass walls…
Time will bring relief, you all have lied –Edna St. Vincent Millay On the freeway, a cop cruiser pulls beside me in the hiss of…
A rafter in the back woods:five toms and eighteen hens,a remnant of the Pilgrim myththat predicated genocide. Bobbing heads and fanned tails,almost our national bird….
let us go then you and Iwhen the evening has wretchedly passed and diedlike cremations sanctified far gone unstablelet us so through curtained half-perverted sweetsthe…
A jar of sea salt rests on the table Of the woman whose home is at the edge of the pavement in middle Vermont.Close…
I mean like this morning.While streaming 24/7.Somebody’s hijab blew off. Tagging the rotunda of intersectionality.Shooting the pier of othering.The quality of the rip unsurpassed. An…
The Sukshma Series is a first-hand account of an educated woman of post-colonial India reflecting on how the social and political set-up of the country defined the status of an Indian woman.
We look at the world once, in childhood.The rest is memory.Louise Glück These streets birthed a humdrum infancy,a Salvadoran consistency.The calmness of tortillas, thick, our…
I found a mandir once in Kathmandu,Enclosed in vines, surrounded by a street, With no door visible, its carvings worn…And asked which god it was devoted…
Salif says you got fat in detention. Brother,how do you laugh with your teeth showing?We starved you in Alabama, they burned downyour house, your motorcycle,…
Haiku Soup Swimming in haiku —A natural progression,Drowning in it too Try Try not to break, eggs Your mother won’t forgive meWhile she’s simmering
I’ve had this mistress since the dawn of time – who wears a smoke-ruined perfume that leaves me a dizzy fool – Flowerage de Feu…
We begin to believe in the collapseof trees / sky folded like a hand,an hourglass wasting sand. Can we contain the catastrophe?The park is in…
The Sukshma Series is a first-hand account of an educated woman of post-colonial India reflecting on how the social and political set-up of the country defined the status of an Indian woman.
Thin sheaths of ashborn of forest firefallaround merest in my hairstick to sweaty skinRubbing eyesclouds my visionRubbing armsturns my skin greyLayer upon layerash fallsI stand pierced by…
In another life, I was paintedOut of the picture, By the Table, Scummed up with oil layered likePremature common lilac leaves Peering down. I am sat next…
The letter comes from a far countryon an early April evening, when the moon is fulland stars run quietly. The good earth, bored with the fecund promise…